Independence Day

We made it to Nashville.  The past three weeks have been a blur and extremely surreal.  Wedding, funeral, family vacation, thesis revisions, moving out of our apartment, the list goes on.  Although the Thigpens have the day packed with family fun, Ryan and I are also celebrating being in one place... for an entire day.  This is one of the few instances of July 4th that I haven't spent on Ocracoke, as that trip had to occur a week early this year to ensure maximum travel time this summer.
Ocracoke is a small island (9.6 sq. miles to be exact) containing a quaint fishing village of the same name.  Our reasons for starting here are pretty simple, this has been my family vacation spot for as long as I can remember.  My grandparents brought my mother and aunts to Ocracoke when they were small, and the tradition continued.  How they discovered Ocracoke, I am not sure.   When I wanted to go road tripping when I was an undergrad, my grandmother told me to drive south until I liked the temperature and drive east until I hit the water. So, I figure 40-something years ago, it probably went a lot like that.  Less than a thousand people call Ocracoke home and although it has a gas station, snow cone stand, and many stores stocked with "wooden noisemakers and an assortment of jams", it still retains the feel of a fishing village that somehow strayed off the path led by the northern Outer Banks (when they sold out to strip malls and 14 bedroom beach mansions).
I don't know how other people mark the passage of time growing up, but I always counted in Ocracoke 4ths.  It was the place that I learned about severe weather and waves and the power of Deet.   I loved the idea of having friends that you were only around for two weeks a year, but that the time was insignificant and made it that much more brilliant to see them.  Ocracoke teaches you that it doesn't matter whether you are sleeping on an air mattress, a cot, or the ground, but when you wake up in a sandy hot tent, it immediately levels the playing field and everyone hates the morning.  Although our priorities shifted over the years, I still feel the same almost incurable excitement when I pull on the ferry at Hatteras.  We have fallen into a groove, where every year you have to dig for clams with your feet, visit the RagPicker and Ride the Wind (although we now know the latter is extortion), and head to the harbor to watch the fireworks with your family, friends, and the occasional summer love.
It has been an interesting experience introducing Ryan to my Independence Day past time.  After the mosquitos and man-hating of last year, I was thoroughly convinced I would be spending my July 4ths without Ryan.  I am not sure what the tipping point was, but sometime over the past year he either forgot just how bad last year was, or his attraction to coastal processes dominated over the bad memories.  Whatever the cause, he agreed to return and when we left this year I wasn't the only one wishing for more days on my favorite island.  So now we are in Nashville.  This holiday is a bit different here, but the idea is the same.  Family, friends, swimsuits, and flags make for a great 4th of July and a fitting good-bye as we leave the eastern U.S. in search of our own little bit of independence.